


a prayer to shadows

by BrokenHorizont



Category: Outlast (Video Games)
Genre: Blasphemy, but doesn't need to be read that way, implied Miles/Walrider
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-05
Updated: 2020-08-05
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:54:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25733884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrokenHorizont/pseuds/BrokenHorizont
Summary: you pray to the shadows, to the void, but oh, do they listen? do they care?
Kudos: 7





	a prayer to shadows

To say you’ve never been a religious man before would have been quite the understatement. In fact, you has been one of the big mouthed assholes that’d make fun of belief in any kind, especially up on college. Would make it a fucking sport to question all of these theology people (and even better if you could find one of these folks that believed into all things paranormal) up and down, point out all the flaws there were to believe in something supernatural, all-mighty power standing above humanity. The more drunk you got, the worse it’d go down, too. Perk of nature is technology, kid. Not a god or a spirit or fucking ghosts, for fuck’s sake.

As it would turn out, you’re both incredibly right, and incredibly wrong. As it would turn out, humanity is nothing but a pathetic little thing, a plaything for bigger things to come, and this particular one matches all criteria. It is technology, it is human intelligence wrapped up into a single thing and risen above it, it is a spirit, cold in it’s touch and cruel in it’s intentions, it is a ghost, invisible but deadly, it is a god and you want to break down on your knees, shield your eyes from the beauty and horrors they bring you both at the same time (or maybe it’s just the glow that comes from deep within, blinding you temporary whenever you lay eyes on them directly), and your throat is as dry as your lips, on the edge of breaking open the second you would interrupt the silence (silence that’s not really silence, filled by a buzzing that might as well be deafening, terrifying in it’s simplicity).

Despite all things, you have always been a skeptical soul, a non-believer. If it weren’t for the horror of the situation and pain ringing in your every vein, your every nerve, you would have laughed in the Father’s face, for you could never be what he wants, thinks you to be. You don’t believe.

You didn’t believe. Maybe he knew — knew about the doubt in your soul, the refusal to think about these things, accept them even as a possibility. Maybe it was necessary that you’d come as a non-believer, heretic even. Make the blind one see — only if this is a miracle, it’s a twisted one, dark as the void that settled down under your skin, the void that leads your steps now.

Deep down, you can feel them. Every breath taken in is filled with their smoke, burns cold down your throat and lungs. Every movement is guided by them. You hear their whisper inside your mind and you know you should be terrified. You know you should fight — a dying part of you tells you that it would be better to die, perish from the face of this Earth, than to no longer be in control of your own actions, your own thoughts, your body, yourself. Are you even yourself anymore, or just a tool they created, hollowed out, taken and bent to their will and purpose?

You find you don’t care as much as you used to. There’s prayer dying on your tongue now, held up high against the dark god that makes you, breaks you, sets you together as they will. There’s prayer upon a thing you know you should resist (as little success as you would have), there’s adoration and worship for a thing you should hate.

You pray.

And they listen.

Sometimes, they answer.

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this in like 2017 so whatever. hmu on twitter @Kezemu_


End file.
